Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 338

Chapter 338: End of battle Chapter 338: End of battle The rebels who had moments ago been drunk on the thrill of pursuit were now the ones in full retreat.

Their cohesion had disintegrated under the relentless onslaught of the Herculean cavalry and the advancing infantry.

Panic spread like wildfire, and cries of fear replaced the victorious shouts that had once filled the air.

Some rebels tried to flee back toward the hill, but their path was cut off by the Herculean cavalry, who carved through their disorganized ranks with ruthless precision.

A knight, his armor splattered with blood, drove his lance through the chest of a fleeing rebel, lifting him from the ground momentarily before the lance broke from impact.

Another cavalryman swung his sword in a wide arc, decapitating a rebel whose last scream was drowned in the rush of hooves and steel.

Others attempted to surrender, dropping their weapons and raising their hands.

Their pleas, however, were met with cold indifference.

A Herculean soldier advanced on a kneeling rebel, raising his axe high before bringing it down with a sickening crunch.

“No mercy for bandits!” the soldier spat, stepping over the lifeless body to engage another foe.

Amidst the chaos, some rebels tried to band together and make a stand.

A small group formed a desperate circle, wielding spears and shields, but they were quickly overwhelmed.

The Herculean infantry, emboldened by their renewed momentum, pressed in from all sides, hacking and stabbing until the rebels’ meager defense collapsed entirely.

Farther down the slope, the second wave of Herculean soldiers that had been in full retreat began to rally.

Seeing the prince himself riding among them, his voice booming commands and his presence a steadying force, they turned to face the battlefield once more.

“Hold your ground!” Arnold shouted, raising his sword high while pointing at the rebels behind “The enemy is routed!

Advance with me, and take back the fight!We have won!Take your due!” One Herculean soldier, his face smeared with dirt and blood, grabbed the arm of a fellow infantryman.

“Look!His grace tells the truth” he cried, pointing to the cavalry decimating the rebels.

“The tide’s turned!

We’ve got them!They are running” The soldiers, emboldened by his words and the absence of pursuing rebels, reformed their lines.

The sight of the cavalry devastating the fleeing enemy spurred them further.

As they steadied their shields and advanced back toward the trenches, their confidence returned.

What had moments ago been a rout was now a renewed offensive.

Inor stood atop the hill, his face pale beneath the grime and sweat of the day, his eyes scanning the battlefield below.

What had been a scene of brutal combat was now a catastrophic rout.

The cavalry and the rallied Herculean infantry were slaughtering the rebels who had foolishly pursued down the hill, and those who remained atop the height were too few to hold any semblance of a front.

The lines were broken, men were scattered, and chaos reigned.

Looking around, Inor assessed his dwindling forces.

The soldiers left at the top of the hill-those who had not descended in the reckless pursuit-were exhausted, bloodied, and clearly shaken.

The realization dawned on him that there were simply not enough of them to defend the entire perimeter, let alone push back the encroaching Herculeans.

He made his decision quickly, his voice cutting through the din.

“Break camp!

Take what food you can carry and run!

Move now, or we’ll all be slaughtered!” A soldier nearby turned to him, his face contorted confusion at the command “Our brothers are dying down there!

We can’t just leave them!

We need to go and save them!” Inor’s gaze hardened, his jaw tightening.

“I told them-repeatedly-not to break formation!” he snapped.

“They ignored me, and now they pay the price.

If you want to save them, go.

But don’t expect anyone else to throw their lives away for fools blinded by bloodlust!” The soldier hesitated, there were some friends of his down there, but he also knewthat alone he couldn’t do anything, so for a bit he just stood there watching Inor didn’t wait for an answer.

He turned sharply and barked more orders to the others.

“Grab what food and supplies you can carry and get moving!

Anyone who lingers will be left behind!” Leading by example, Inor strode purposefully toward the camp’s center, his voice carrying over the clamor.

“Move!

Do not look back!

Live to fight another day!” The men began to comply, though many did so reluctantly, their faces shadowed with bitterness and despair.

Packs were hastily filled with provisions, tents were abandoned, and carts were loaded with whatever could be salvaged in the short time they had.

 He knew, deep down, that this was the end.

His army, battered and broken, would not stand a chance against the prince’s forces in open battle again.

Their numbers had been halved, their morale shattered.

Even the hills, which had served as a natural stronghold, were no longer enough to save them.

But there was still a way out.

Yarzat.

Inor’s gaze darkened as he thought of Lucius and Marcus.

The two men had been taken into custody under his orders the moment it became clear the battle was lost.

He had known from the beginning that if things turned dire, they would abandon the cause without a second thought.

They were pawns of someone far more powerful.

Inor had his suspicions about who pulled their strings,after all he was not blind to the sight of the banner moving atop the castles they conquered, and if he was right, the two men’s true value lay not in their own skins but in the one they served.

If he could use Lucius and Marcus to strike a bargain with their backer, perhaps there was still a chance to save his men-or at least himself —————- The triumphant shouts of the soldiers echoed across the battlefield as they surged up the slopes toward the crest of the hill.

Their cries grew louder with each step, voices hoarse from hours of battle but now alive with the fervor of victory and the thought of filling their purse.

At the summit, the first wave of footmen arrived, weapons at the ready, only to find…

nothing.

The trenches were abandoned, the defensive lines emptied, and the makeshift rebel fortifications eerily quiet.

The absence of an enemy only deepened their sense of triumph; as it meant that the fight was over, and all of them could finally return home, or for those that lost theirs build another one.

“They ran!

The cowards ran!” shouted one soldier, pumping his fist in the air.

“Victory is ours!

Herculia reigns supreme!” bellowed another, prompting cheers from those still climbing the slope.

“By the gods, we did it!” The soldiers’ voices combined into a jubilant roar, a wave of unrestrained celebration that carried across the hillside.

Groups of men thrust their weapons into the air, while others clasped each other on the shoulders, shouting triumphantly, “No more rebels!

No more rebellion!I can finally go home!” With their victory assured, the soldiers turned their attention to the abandoned camp.

Tents flapped lazily in the breeze, left behind in the rebels’ hasty escape.

The weary but ecstatic soldiers, now fueled by the thought of reward, swarmed into the camp like ants to a sugar heap, kicking open trunks and rifling through belongings in search of anything of value.

“Check the tents!” one man shouted.

“Time to get our compesation!Anything that will fetch us coin!” Unlike the earlier skirmishes against ragged peasants who had nothing but pitchforks and rags,which meant that what they got out of them was nothing, these rebels had been equipped with proper gear.

And even if they didn’t find anything worthwhile in the abandoned camp they could still return back to the battlefield and scavenge the equipment of the dead, still many of them decided to bet on the camp of the men they fought, looking around to see if their experiences was in fact or not worth the pay.

By pausing to loot the camp, the soldiers knowingly abandoned their chance to chase down the fleeing rebels.

With only a half-hour’s head start, the retreating force could have been overtaken if the men had pressed forward.

Instead, the allure of abandoned weapons, armor, and supplies proved too great.

The moment the camp fell into their hands, the soldiers turned from warriors to scavengers, combing through the spoils like a swarm of ants on a fallen feast.

As the day wore on, the jubilant mood of Prince Arnold-who had just delivered the princedom from the chaos of rebellion-was tempered by the realization that at least half of the enemy had slipped through his grasp.

Victory was undeniable, but it wasn’t as complete as it could have been.  Yet, even as his forced went over the hills, a significant portion of the rebel forces had melted away into the countryside, escaping his grasp.

What should have been a resounding and total victory now carried the nagging sting of unfinished business.

Still, Arnold held his tongue.

Though the escape of the rebels frustrated him, he understood why his soldiers had chosen to plunder instead of pursue.

They were men who fought not out of loyalty to the crown, but necessity.

Poorly paid, if at all they were , their true reward often came from what they could seize after battle.

Looting was their unspoken right, their compensation for risking life and limb.

Without it, Arnold knew, they would have little incentive to march into battle at all.

And so, he kept silent as his men rifled through tents, gathered discarded blades, and stripped the fallen of whatever valuables they could find, reining in his frustration at the thought that his enemies had succeeded in surviving another day.

He knew that if he were to deny them this would not only court resentment but might spark outright rebellion among his own ranks.

Even a noble prince, Arnold reflected,  must bow to the practicalities of command, and led ears to the voices of hundreds armed to the teeth.

Typically, in the aftermath of a rout, the cavalry would be unleashed to pursue the fleeing enemy, turning retreat into slaughter.

Swift and relentless, mounted knights were the ideal tool for chasing down broken ranks, ensuring no foe could regroup or live to fight another day.

Yet, as Arnold surveyed the battlefield and considered his options, he knew this was not a luxury he could afford.

With only seventy knights remaining under his command, his cavalry was far too small a force to risk in pursuit.

The rebel army, though scattered, still retained enough strength to potentially overwhelm such a small detachment if it rallied.

With a heavy heart, Arnold made his decision.

The pursuit would wait.

The risk was simply too great.

For all his skill and success on this day, the lack of a strong cavalry force now revealed the limits of his power, a chain around his ambition that prevented him from grasping the total victory just beyond his reach.